


it was me and you and the whole town under water

by bisexualfpjones



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Riverparents, ignoring riverdale math as per usual, parentdale, sad dads being sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-10-10 08:57:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17422832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bisexualfpjones/pseuds/bisexualfpjones
Summary: the missing fredsythe storyline from 308 we all needed





	it was me and you and the whole town under water

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jugheadjones](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jugheadjones/gifts).



> I swore I was never going to gift a fic to anybody but my wife Julia's been really looking forward to this and I made her suffer enough so... here you go my love.

“Do you think you’ll actually sleep tonight?” FP asks as he shuts off the bedroom light, a bedside lamp left casting a warm yellow glow on Fred’s tired form, and closes the door behind him. He’s been spending nights at Fred’s on and off since Archie’s trial, has become more of a permanent fixture since their boys skipped town. Their lives had been thrown into such a tailspin as of late - most of all Fred - and they had found themselves easily slipping back into the old familiar habit of leaning on each other just to make it through. 

FP could almost laugh at the irony of their situation: their two boys running away together like he and Fred had talked so much about doing themselves back in their youth. He _could_ laugh, if the situation wasn’t so entirely fucked. 

“Doubt it,” Fred mumbles from where he’s curled up on his side on the bed, his face pressed to his pillow. He hasn’t slept a decent night’s sleep in weeks, and it shows. His eyes are hollow, he doesn’t eat, he moves through the day like Atlas carrying the world on his shoulders. FP climbs into bed behind him, presses his chest to Fred’s back and slips his arms under Fred’s skinnier ones, holding him close. “You should just go home. No sense in you losing sleep because of me.”

“Do you want me to go home?” 

Fred can feel FP’s lips brushing the skin of his neck. He doesn’t answer. Night after night they go through this same song and dance. Fred will tell FP to go home because he’s feeling like too much of a burden, and FP will ask if him if that’s really what he wants, both of them knowing if that was the case FP would’ve been long gone. And instead of answering, Fred will give some non-verbal cue that he wants the exact opposite, much like he’s doing now. He turns in FP’s arms, presses his face to the other man’s chest and breathes him in. 

“I’m so tired, F.”

FP smooths the hair at the back of Fred’s head. “Go to sleep,” he whispers.

“That’s not what I meant.” Fred can feel a wetness on FP’s shirt where he’s been resting. Then he registers the same wetness on his cheeks. He doesn’t know when he started crying, but he also feels like he hasn’t really stopped since Archie was taken away in handcuffs.

“I know, baby. I know.” FP places a kiss to the crown of Fred’s head and rubs soft circles on his back in an attempt to get him to relax. He knows it won’t work, but he thinks Fred appreciates the gesture anyway.

They lay like that for a while, and FP thinks he’s almost lulled Fred to sleep when suddenly his phone starts ringing on the bedside table. If Fred was anywhere near sleep before, he surely isn’t now. He rushes to sit up and reach for the phone, most likely not even processing it’s FP’s phone that’s ringing at not his own. He’s been doing that a lot lately, running to answer phones like his life depends on it. In a way, FP guesses it does. He knows with every ring Fred’s hoping it’s Archie on the other end calling to check in, or better yet, calling to say he’s coming home. It’s hard to ignore the look of utter dejection that overwhelms Fred’s entire being when that’s not the case.

Fred’s looking down at FP’s phone now in confusion before handing it off to him. “It’s Gladys. I didn’t know you two were talking again.”

Now it’s FP’s turn to look confused as he pushes himself up to a sitting position. “We’re not,” he says as he takes his phone. “Not unless I’m the one calling.”

“You don’t think it’s…” Fred lets his sentence trail off, too afraid to finish the thought out loud. If he says it out loud it’ll only set him up for further disappointment. 

FP gives him a sympathetic look. “I don’t know.” He doesn’t want to get Fred’s hopes up, but silently he’s wondering what other possible reason Gladys could have for calling him out of the blue, at night no less. Unless something happened to Jellybean… 

He swallows down any fears he has and swipes his thumb across the screen to answer the call. “Gladys? What’s-”

Fred can’t hear the other end of the conversation, so he goes for paying close attention to FP’s face to try and glean any information. FP’s eyebrows dart up to his hairline and he looks to Fred.

“The boys are with you?” 

Fred goes to grab the phone, but FP swats his hand away. _Hold on,_ he mouths.

_What’s going on?_ Fred mouths back. His heart feels like it’s about to burst out of his chest. He’s not entirely sure what he’s feeling. Definitely happy over the possibility of Archie being safe and with someone he actually knows, more than a little confused over how and why and how long they’ve been in Toledo. Throw in a healthy dose of fear and desperation and he thinks that pretty much sums up his current state of mind.

“What do you mean they’ve been there since this morning?” Fred snaps out of his thoughts and is back to listening in on FP’s end of the call. “Well you should’ve called sooner! Yeah, alright. I’m with Fred right now, we’ll be there by morning. No, it’s not-” FP looks over at Fred again, this time with a noticeably pinker complexion. Then he’s turning his head away almost like he’s embarrassed and drops his voice to a rather aggressive whisper. “Do you really want to have this conversation right now?”

Fred doesn’t know what the hell they’re talking about, but he also can’t really be bothered to care right now. Archie’s in Toledo so that’s where he’s headed. He’s already jumped out of bed and is dressed by the time FP’s hung up with Gladys and is putting on clothes of his own.

“Do we have a gameplan here?” FP asks as he’s zipping up his pants.

“Besides getting my son back? No. Haven’t really thought that far ahead.”

“I know this is rich coming from me, but shouldn’t we have one?”

FP’s trailing behind Fred as they descend the stairs, Fred calling out for Vegas in the process. FP doesn’t really see the point in that when they both know where he’ll be - he’s spent most of his time moping by the front door since Archie was arrested.

“Listen, FP,” Fred starts, kneeling on the ground besides Vegas to put his leash on. FP secretly wonders why they have to bring the dog along with them, but figures it’s not important enough to bring up right now. “The only plan I have is to drive to Toledo, get my son, and never let him out of my sight again.” He stands up then and faces FP. “I’ll figure the rest out later.”

FP gets it, he does. But Riverdale is a small town and with the target on Archie’s back it’s not exactly going to be a walk in the park sneaking him back into town undetected. Word will get out eventually, and God only knows what Hiram Lodge will do to them. If FP had only himself to worry about then fearing Hiram wouldn’t even be on his radar, but this stupid, unrelenting grudge he has against the Andrews’ men has already gone far enough, and if FP’s being honest with himself he’s terrified of what comes next. 

So he nods, and that’s all the confirmation Fred needs to know FP’s on his side, not that that was ever in question. Fred knows FP would kill for him without even having to be asked. He just hopes it won’t come to that.

“Is that it?” Fred asks. He’s already got his coat on, and he’s ready to go.

“Yeah. Just, can we stop by the trailer park first? I wanna bring the bikes up for Jughead. Plus, I doubt the four-” he catches a glimpse of Vegas now sitting alert at Fred’s feet and corrects himself, “-five of us are all gonna fit in the truck.”

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

“Alright then. Let’s get this show on the road.”

\--

FP’s finishing loading up the last bike when he sees it- part of a duffle bag poking out from under a blanket. He doesn’t know how long it’s been there or even what’s inside, but something in his gut is telling him to check. He goes to reach for it, just to see, but then Fred’s calling from the other side “You ready?” and FP pulls back like he’s been burned.

“Uh, yeah. Ready.” He eyes the bag once more before hopping in to the truck where Fred’s waiting behind the wheel. _It’s just tools, probably_ he thinks to himself. He’s not entirely sure why he feels so uneasy about it. He’s overthinking. It’s fine. There will be a simple explanation. 

As Fred pulls out of the trailer park and on to the road FP does his best to swallow down any questions he has and just let it go.

\--

They’ve been on the road for hours, both of them physically exhausted from lack of sleep, but mentally too wired to let it really get to them. It’s been silence mostly, save for the soft hum of the radio. It’s a stark contrast to their normal car ride sing-a-longs.

FP’s behind the wheel now, having switched off with Fred somewhere around the halfway mark. Vegas is asleep with his head on FP’s lap. The two have grown an attachment to each other since FP’s been spending most of his time at Fred’s lately. FP suspects it has something to do with the amount of scraps he leaves behind when he’s eating (to call him messy would be an understatement).

Ever since they left the trailer park Fred’s seemed a little tenser than usual. FP tried chalking it up to the obvious jitters of finally being reunited with one’s child, but he knew better than that. He knew _Fred_ better than that. 

He’s spent the last 6 hours going back and forth on whether or not to say anything, opting to stay silent and just let Fred have his peace, or whatever of it he could get, but the air between them is getting to be too thick, and FP fears he’ll choke on it if he puts it off any longer.

“What’s going on with you?” He keeps his tone casual but soft, not wanting to spook the fraught man next to him, and gives him a quick side glance before turning his attention back to the road.

Fred was sunk low in his seat, head resting against the window in a vain attempt at rest, but he slowly sits up straighter now, brows knit together as he turns his head to FP. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh, come on, Fred. You’re not exactly thinking quietly.”

Fred huffs out a breath, running his hands over his face and through his hair. He used to have such a thick head of it when he was younger… He blames genetics for the thinning, but he knows all the stress from the shitstorm that is his life as of recent years certainly hasn’t been helping. It’s just a constant reminder of his own mortality, and he’s had quite enough of that lately. 

There’s no point in trying to lie or avoid the subject. FP’s right in assuming something’s going on. He hasn’t been forthcoming about his intentions with this trip, and he knew sooner or later he’d have to confess. He was just really counting on the later. FP wasn’t going to like what he had to say. 

“I, uh- I wasn’t exactly honest with you earlier when I told you I didn’t have a plan for all this.” Fred gestures vaguely. He was trying not to look at FP as he spoke, opting to keep his eyes forward, but he can’t help but spare a glance at him now. He catches the other man looking at him, one eyebrow cocked in question before turning back. It’s his invitation to go on, he knows. He’s just not sure if he can. 

“Come on, Fred. Just spit it out.” FP was going for teasing and playful, but Fred catches the worry underneath.

“I’m not going back to Riverdale.” It comes out in a rush.

It’s an amazing display of restraint on FP’s part when he doesn’t just slam his foot down on the breaks and launch himself through the windshield. It probably would’ve hurt less. He’s being selfish, he knows, but that doesn’t stop his immediate first thoughts from being _You can’t leave. I just got you back…_ He very well can’t say that out loud, he knows. 

It dawns on him then, the bag in the back, what it’s for. He tilts his head back against the window and sighs. “How long have you been keeping that getaway bag?”

Fred looks surprised. “How did you-”

“Saw it when I was tying up the bikes. Was hoping it was tools,” FP laughs without any real humor.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think this would actually happen. Kinda just… wishful thinking. I should’ve told you sooner.

FP waves him off. “It’s fine. Really. I get it. If you can’t bring Archie home, you bring home to Archie. It’s a classic Fred Andrews move.” He turns to look at Fred, tries to plaster a cool smile on his face, but Fred’s not buying it. FP carries on before Fred has time to make the conversation about him. “You got any idea where you’re headed?”

“The border, most likely.” Fred’s staring intently at FP’s profile, trying to get a read for how he’s feeling. FP didn’t do well with people leaving, no matter how much of a front he tried to put up. There’s a part of Fred that feels guilty for springing it on him like this. He should’ve just said something back at the house. Maybe he was afraid FP would try and stop him. It’s an irrational thought. FP could be selfish about a lot of things, but he knew Archie was too important to Fred to ever try coming between them. Besides, it’s not like they were even together, officially, so…

“The border? What? Are you- You’re going to Mexico?!” FP asks incredulously. 

FP’s look at him now with his eyes practically bulging out of head and Fred can’t help but crack a smile. “No, you dummy! Canada. We’re going to Canada.”

FP seems to relax a little bit, but not by much. “Oh… right. Yeah, that makes more sense. Sorry.” Another silence falls between them. “Guess that explains Vegas, too.”

Vegas perks up at his name before plopping his head back down. Fred says “Yeah.”

“Do you know what you’re gonna do when you get up there?”

“Find a cabin in the woods, maybe. Go off the grid, live off the land.”

FP smiles. Fred thinks he sees something like longing in his features. “Should’ve known. That’s been your escape plan since we were kids.”

Fred smiles, too, though neither of them seem all that happy. “Well you know me, good ol’ boring, predictable Fred.”

“Predictable maybe, but I’d never call you boring.” 

FP turns his head then and catches Fred’s eyes. The moment is brief, but it somehow stretches on forever. It’s like the weight of what Fred’s leaving behind is finally falling down on him. He knows it’s stupid, knows he has no business asking because it’s just not logistically possible, but-

“Maybe you can-”

“Don’t, Fred.”

“-come with us…”

Fred’s face falls. It was the outcome he was expecting. Doesn’t make it hurt any less. 

It’s quiet again. When Fred looks over he can see FP’s knuckles have gone white where they grip the steering wheel. He regrets having said anything. He thought it was the right thing to do, but now he’s not so sure. 

FP’s still not looking at him. It makes him ache in the worst way. He needs to do something to fix the air between them. He doesn’t want to end things like this. Tentatively, he makes a move to stretch out his arm so he can run his fingers softly through FP’s hair. He’s due for a trim, a wave of dark curls gathering at the nape of his neck. Fred thinks it’s cute. He’s always had a thing for FP’s curls, stretching back to when they were kids. They were always so soft, which surprised him given the hard edges that seemed to line every inch of FP’s being. There was that same softness at FP’s core, it was just harder to get to. Fred took pride in the fact he was one of the rare few who actually got to see it. It was the little way FP would just absolutely melt any time Fred sunk his fingers in to scratch along in his scalp, or the way he’d twirl a lock of hair around his finger and pull away just to watch it bounce. It was that quiet intimacy he was already starting to miss. 

“I would’ve left with you, you know.” FP’s voice pulls Fred from his thoughts and he stops his hand from going any further. His elbow is perched on the back of the seat and his hand is frozen in the space between them. “If you had asked me when we were seventeen to run away with you… I would have.”

Fred lets out a breath and allows his hand to finally fall to FP’s neck, his fingers curling into that hair he loves so much. He watches FP squeeze the steering wheel a little tighter before finally easing his grip.

“Our timing’s always sucked, hasn’t it?” Fred laughs, but it’s far too heavy, emotions too raw. FP’s laughing, too, but as Fred takes in the sight before him he notices the wetness pooling in the corner of FP’s eye. He moves his hand over to cup his jaw, swipes a thumb across FP’s skin just as a tear escapes. FP closes his eyes for the briefest moment and leans in to the touch. 

Vegas pops his head up then and starts sniffing and nudging at FP’s arm, like he’s sensing the man is in desperate need of comfort, until FP takes the hint and starts scratching behind his ear.

“What a traitor,” teases Fred. “I feed and shelter you, let you sleep in my bed, and this is the payment I get? Ignored for an entire car ride with a butt in my face?”

“You talking about the dog or me?” FP jokes, trying to keep the mood light.

“Most days it’s a toss up.”

“Oh, see, now that sense of humor of yours is what I’m gonna miss the most, Freddie.” FP smiles, waving a finger in Fred’s face.

“You make it sound like we’re never gonna see each other again.”

FP rolls his head to side, a look on his face like _really?_ Fred raises his eyebrows in response. FP sighs and turns back to the road. “You’re right. I’m sure the feds will stop looking for your fugitive son, Hiram will call off his personal manhunt, and you and Archie can come skipping back into town like nothing ever happened. We’ll all get milkshakes at Pop’s to celebrate.”

Fred pulls his hand back and sits up a little straighter, twisting his body away from his friend so he can look out the window. “Jesus, FP. You don’t have to be so cynical.”

“I’m not-” FP pauses, exhales through his nose and looks at Fred. He didn’t mean to come off so brash. The last thing he wants right now is to end things with Fred on bad terms. Again. “I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just- The future’s looking pretty bleak here, Fred.”

“You were always such a pessimist,” Fred says more to himself than anything. He’s shaking his head and looking down at his lap now. 

“Oh come on! How could you possibly be positive about any of this?”

Fred just shrugs and simply says “If I give up on hope, I’ve got nothing left.”

It’s heavy enough that the two men need a moment to let the words really sink in. FP’s never been much for hope, but if it’s all Fred has left then who is he to take that away? He knows Fred’s stuck between a rock and a hard place. 

It’s not fair. For as long as FP’s known them, the Andrews have always been good people, and yet somehow time and time again tragedy always seems to befall them. They didn’t deserve it. They were supposed to have better. Families like Fred’s weren’t supposed to know hardship. Not like FP’s. FP learned pretty early on in life that the path laid out before him was treacherous. He tried to fight against it once, did a pretty decent job of forging a new way, but in the end it was all for nought. He didn’t know if things like fate and destiny were real, but he was positive there was something out there in the ether making sure he knew where his place was amongst the muck. It was inescapable for him.

But for people like Fred? Like Archie? They weren’t supposed to know what it felt like to be on the receiving end of a glock on a bright sunny morning. Or what images the human brain starts conjuring up just to torture you when you’ve been sitting in a cold, tiny jail cell for more than 48 hours. They weren’t supposed to know the type of heartbreaking loss that keeps you up at all hours of the night, tossing and turning in a cold sweat, eyes all dried and red and puffy because you’ve already cried out everything you had in you.

“Hey,” calls Fred’s voice softly beside him, a warm hand laying gently on his arm to pull his focus back. FP hadn’t realized how tense he’d gone until now. “It’s gonna be okay.” Vegas pops up then, gives a quick lick to FP’s cheek like he’s agreeing with Fred before turning around and plopping down in Fred’s lap. They should probably pull over soon, FP thinks, so they can all stretch their legs for a bit. Maybe he’s just trying to escape the sudden stuffiness of the truck.

“I think maybe you have the right idea,” FP says, “about leaving Riverdale.” Fred gives him a quizzical look. “It’s a dead end town. Always has been. Just getting worse under new management. What’s there to go back to?” He quietly thinks to himself _There’s nothing left to go back to without you._ God, when did he get so sappy? 

“You won’t leave.”

“And why the hell not?”

“Because it’s a lie.” Fred’s calling his bluff. “You do have something to go back to and you know it. All those kids on the South Side, you know you can’t just leave them. They need someone looking out for them and you can pretend all you want but I _know_ you care.” Fred jabs at FP’s shoulder to emphasize his point. “Protecting those kids has always been your way of making up for what your dad did to you and don’t tell me I’m wrong.” FP opened his mouth like he wanted to protest but closed it quickly. “Besides, even without all them, you really want to be the one to tell Jughead he’s moving ten hours away from his girl?”

“I actually tried that once,” FP admits. Fred looks surprised, and a little amused. “It was the night of homecoming. I was dropping them off at the school, and needless to say he didn’t look too thrilled.”

“You are unbelievable,” Fred laughed. FP couldn’t help but join in.

“Probably wasn’t the smartest tactic, I’ll admit.”

It’s a few minutes before the laughter dies down and Fred speaks up, his voice quiet now. “Maybe Gladys and Jellybean will decide to come back, then.”

FP scoffs. “Yeah, fat chance of that happening.”

“Hey, you don’t know that! They could surprise you.” There was that ever present optimism again. “This little reunion could do wonders. Don’t know why you’re not staying longer.”

“It’s… complicated.”

“Always is with you two.”

“Hey! It is not! We were perfectly fine up until…” FP lets his sentence trail off. No point in rehashing the ugly past now. Truth was Fred wasn’t entirely wrong. He just seems to be recalling more of the end than the beginning. 

Fred chooses to ignore the implication. “I just don’t want you to be alone.” 

_Then don’t leave,_ FP thinks to himself. Instead, he says “I won’t be. I’ve got Jughead, and the kids, and… Tom.” FP’s face scrunches up and Fred can’t help but laugh. They both know Tom barely qualifies as a friend and the only reason he’s been putting up with FP lately was for Fred’s sake.

“You need more friends your own age, F.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right about that.”

A beat passes before Fred reaches over and takes hold of FP’s hand. He laces their fingers together, and as FP looks down he can’t help but wonder if this is the last time they’ll get to do this. There’s suddenly a million things he wants to say, sitting right there on the tip of his tongue, but he knows better. It’s too late now. Fred’s made up his mind. He’s leaving, and these last few hours before they get to Toledo are all FP gets. Part of him knows he’s already gotten more than he deserves, the other part doesn’t think it’s enough.

Fred’s staring intently down at where their hands are joined. His thumb is rubbing circles gently on FP’s skin like he’s lost in thought. “Promise me something, F?” 

“Anything.” FP’s voice catches in his throat and he winces. He didn’t mean to come off so clingy. If Fred noticed he doesn’t bring attention to it, and for that FP’s grateful. 

“Just… promise me you won’t go off the deep end when I’m gone?”

FP sucks in a breath. “What makes you say that?”

“Come on, F.” Fred smiles, but there’s a sadness to it. He tugs at FP’s hand playfully. “This is me you’re talking to. I know how you get when you’re left alone in your head for too long. Just promise me you won’t shut everybody out.”

FP wants to argue, but he knows Fred’s right, _hates_ that he’s right. He likes to think that he’s outgrown his old self-destructive tendencies, but it’s a lie. Sometimes he feels like a hamster on a wheel constantly stuck in the same cycle of ruining his own life. He’s too old for this shit, has been for a while and he knows it. Old habits die hard. 

But things are different now. He’s been getting better, trying to, at least. Fred’s played a big role in that. FP’s not all that sure if he’s ready to stand on his own two feet, but what other choice does he have now? “I promise,” he whispers and squeezes Fred’s hand. He briefly considers bringing that same hand up to his lips but refrains, thinks the act will be too intimate for him to keep his composure any longer.

The attempt at restraint is all for nought, however, because soon enough Fred’s scooting closer to FP on the truck’s bench seat, staying mindful of a resting Vegas still half in his lap, and he rests his head on FP’s shoulder. It’s an all too familiar position, harkening all the way back to their high school days when they’d drive around town in the middle of the night trying to avoid Fred’s curfew. The town would be fast asleep and there wouldn’t be a soul around besides the two of them. It was in those moments that FP liked to pretend he and Fred were the only two people left alive. He was never the dreamer (that was always Fred’s gig), but with his best friend near sleep on his shoulder he found it all too easy to slip into daydreams of a life that was just theirs, where they could just _be._

It feels like that now. They’ve got a few hours left till sunrise. The world is still dark and desolate around them on the highway, nothing but miles and miles of empty road still ahead them. This is where FP feels safest. 

Usually.

Right now he just feels his heart breaking. Every mile they get closer to Toledo is another mile closer to goodbye. He’s an old pro at that part by now. It should comer easier to him by this point, but he’s slipped. He’s made the mistake of getting comfortable with his newfound role in Fred’s life, and worst of all he let himself think this time it would stick. He knows he should’ve known better. He’ll have plenty of time later to kick himself over it. 

Fred shifts a little and FP’s pulled back to the present. He glances down at the man resting on him and his chest tightens, something like longing tugging at his heart. He knows Fred’s nowhere near sleep, but still he doesn’t want to disturb him. 

They’ll finish the rest of the drive in silence, and FP will do his best to pretend the clock isn’t running out on their time together.

\--

The sun has yet to make its full appearance in the sky, painting the world in a dusty blue as the truck pulls up to the Jonesyard. Fred left FP’s shoulder somewhere before the ‘Welcome to Toledo’ sign. He’s got that jittery energy again, sitting up straight in his seat with his knee bouncing like he’s ready to throw himself out of the vehicle at the first sight of red hair.

Vegas, too, is now sitting upright between them, like he’s suddenly aware of what awaits him. FP feels like the only one not ready for this trip to end. He’s happy that Fred gets to see Archie again, of course, but that damn stubborn selfishness just won’t stop nagging him no matter how hard he tries to force it down. 

They haven’t said goodbye, not really, and FP’s not sure if that’s a conscious effort on Fred’s part or not. He doesn’t even know how he himself feels about it, but there’s not much time left to dwell on it because Fred’s opening his door and hopping out before FP’s even pulled to a full stop. He doesn’t take Vegas with him, but he’s left his window open enough for air to come through.

FP follows suit, lagging behind by the back of the truck. Fred notices somewhere at the halfway point to the door that FP’s not with him, and he stops to turn around. “Aren’t you coming in?”

“No. I, um-” He shuffles his feets, rubs the back of his neck. He hasn’t smoked since his twenties but suddenly his fingers are itching for a cigarette. Or maybe a drink. He doesn’t know. There’s a number of reasons he doesn’t want to go inside. He’s not entirely sure he’s ready to see his wife, for one. He’s done a good job of keeping himself distracted from this particular fact, but now that it’s here… God only knows how it’ll unfold. Fred and Archie don’t need that awkward energy tainting their reunion anyway. (So maybe he’s being a coward… he won’t think too much about it.) And maybe there’s a part of him that thinks if he goes inside with Fred it’ll be too real. The end will be unavoidable. “I’m gonna unload the bikes. You go ahead.”

“You sure?”

FP nods and without much more thought, Fred turns around and heads back to the front door.

There’s this flutter in FP’s stomach as he stands there watching Fred’s back. It’s nerves, laced with what definitely feels like regret. He thought he’d be okay with an ambiguous ending, but the further Fred walks away the more FP realizes this can’t be how they part ways. He needs closure.

Fred’s almost at the door when FP finally finds his voice, calls out Fred’s name. He’s jogging up to meet him, watches as Fred spins around again.

There’s no time for either of them to think. Fred opens his mouth to ask what’s wrong and before FP has the chance to overthink if he should be doing this, right here out in the open for anyone to see, he’s grabbing hold of Fred’s face and crashing their lips together. 

It’s messy - the clashing of teeth and FP gripping on to Fred so tight he thinks he might be bruising his ears. But neither one of them lets up. Fred’s hands fly up to FP’s wrists, making sure even if he wanted to FP couldn’t let go. Any lingering doubt in FP’s mind is gone now. Fred needed this just as much as he did. They’re finally having a proper goodbye.

Reluctantly, FP pulls away, but his hold on Fred remains firm. “Just in case,” is all he says, voice low. Fred nods, seemingly knowing exactly what FP means. _Just in case this is it. Just in case we never see each other again._ The unspoken words fill up the space between them.

They fall into another, shorter, kiss. Somewhere in the back of his mind FP is vaguely aware of the possibility of Gladys or Jellybean or Archie or Jughead spying on them, bearing witness to this exchange. They can deal with it later, if it comes to that. This moment is his - _theirs_ \- and he just wants to savor it.

“Go be with your boy,” FP says as they part for the last time. Fred stares at him for a moment, like he’s trying to commit every last detail of FP’s face to memory. There’s a silent agreement not to speak the three little words hanging between them, but they know. Their kisses said as much. No need to state the obvious. 

So there’s nothing left to say. They’ve reached the end of the road, so to speak. FP gives Fred’s cheek a stroke, maybe the last touch they’ll ever share, and he watches the other man relax against his palm for the briefest moment before he turns and walks away for good this time.

FP brings the back of his hand up to his mouth, holds it there like he can somehow permanently brandish the feel of Fred’s lips to his, and watches Fred until he disappears inside.

\--

Riverdale’s under lockdown.

Riverdale’s under lockdown and FP and Jughead can’t go home and it really is the icing on top of the fucked up mess that has been FP’s entire day. 

He’s spent the last 10 hours on the road trying to process not only what this new life without Fred is supposed to look like, but also grappling with the unexpected reception from his wife. Admittedly, he wasn’t entirely sure what he was in for; maybe a slap to the face, a cold shoulder at the least. He hadn’t prepared for Gladys having actually _wanting_ to see him. Or, maybe she didn’t _want_ to see him, but she certainly didn’t greet him with the barrel of a shotgun so… it caught him off guard. A warmer reception than he ever hoped to get, unleashing a million questions in the process.

And now he’s stuck in some dingy motel room, sleeping in yesterday’s clothes (Okay, so maybe this isn’t exactly new territory for him, but sue him for wanting to sleep in his own bed tonight after the day he’s had.)

Fucking Hiram Lodge. This whole thing reeked of him. God only knew what was going on behind the town line.

“So what are we supposed to do now?” Jughead asks. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed that’s closest to the wall, FP having claimed the bed nearest the door just in case Hiram sent one of his goons after them. Who knew what lengths he would go to to find Archie, who’d he try to press information out of. FP wasn’t risking it.

FP runs his hands over his face and sighs. He’s got no energy left. He’s had a long day and he’s already laying down on top of the sheets more than ready to welcome sleep. “I don’t know, Jug. Maybe we can go stay with your mom. We’ll talk about it tomorrow. I’m tired.”

“Dad-”

There’s a sudden pounding on the door that startles them both. 

FP sits up straight, and Jughead mirrors the action. They share a look before turning to the door, then back to each other. The pounding doesn’t let up. 

“Don’t move,” FP warns, voice low as he slowly gets up from the bed, trying to make as little noise as possible. 

He makes it to the door, hand on the knob and he’s positioning himself to press his ear to the wood when he hears an unmistakable voice calling his name from the other side. 

“FP!” It yells, followed by more pounding. “FP, are you in there?”

FP only glances over his shoulder at his son for a second before he opens the door and is greeted with the sight of the last person he expected to see tonight or ever.

Fred’s standing there looking worse for wear. He’s pale, shaken, eyes red like he’s been crying, but he’s holding it together now, or at least trying to. FP’s not entirely convinced this isn’t some giant hallucination until he hears Jughead speaking up from somewhere behind.

“Mr. A are you alright?”

Fred’s eyes flicker to Jughead before they land back on FP. “I- I tried going home, but- And Archie didn’t want- But they weren’t letting anybody in and-” He’s speaking in fragments, but FP gets the gist. “I remembered driving past here, ‘cause I needed a place for the night, and then I saw your bikes when I was heading to my room and I had to check.” Everything’s coming out in a rush, his breaths becoming increasingly ragged, and it’s like Fred’s falling more and more apart with every word he speaks. “He’s gone, FP. I just let him-”

“Who’s gone? Is Archie okay?” Jughead again. He almost sounds as frantic as Fred. 

FP gets it, the fear of not being able to protect your best friend. He’s been living with it for weeks. He’s living it right now. He knows he’s got to get Fred alone now. He’s a man on the verge but he won’t let himself truly break with Jughead around. It’s one thing to be sad, but FP knows Fred well enough to know he wouldn’t want a kid to see someone this totally broken. It’s too much of a burden for someone so young. 

“Listen, Jug.” FP turns to face his son, but he keeps a grounding hand on Fred. “Stay in this room. Do not leave. Do not answer the door for anybody other than me or Fred. I’m gonna take him back to his room and calm him down, alright?”

“But dad, what about-”

“Just do what I said!” FP winces, and his son just stares up at him. He didn’t mean for his voice to come out so harsh. Everyone’s emotions are at an eleven, and he’s just trying to keep this ship from sinking completely. He lowers his voice when he speaks again, tries to make it softer. “Just stay here tonight and we’ll be back in the morning to explain everything, okay?”

Jughead nods and before FP turns to leave he gives his son a quick kiss on his forehead. It’s unusual for them, as made evident by the look of confusion on Jughead’s face. They don’t really do affection like this, not unless FP’s groveling, and he knows he only has himself to blame for them given their recent history, but he’s compelled to do it anyway. Probably has something to do with this whole Archie business and his best friend about to completely lose it in front of him because he just had to say goodbye to his own kid. Kinda puts things in perspective. 

He turns back to Fred. “You got your roomkey?”

Fred holds out a shaky hand with the key firmly lodged in his grip. FP hadn’t even noticed it before. He takes it from Fred’s grasp and then he’s guiding him out the door.

The room is only a couple of doors down, close enough that FP thinks he’ll be able to hear if anything troubling happens. 

He unlocks the door and ushers Fred inside, a hand planted firmly on the small of his back. FP barely has time to shut the door and turn the light on before a sob is racking through Fred from somewhere deep in his gut, and he’s falling.

It’s like one of those slow-motion movie scenes, but at the same time everything’s happening in a blur. All FP knows is he manages to get to his best friend before he has a chance to hit the ground. He hooks his arms under Fred’s and keeps him close, softening the impact as they land in a sitting positioning by the bed, Fred half in his lap. 

Fred’s completely broken apart. Now that they’re in the privacy of his motel room, just the two of them, no prying eyes, he unleashes everything in these gut-wrenching cries FP doesn’t think he’s ever heard from anyone, let alone the man before him. 

Fred’s speaking, but FP can barely make out what he’s saying. He thinks he hears _my baby_ and _my boy, my little boy_ and his heart shatters. FP thinks back to last year, remembers carrying his own son’s bloody, limp body in his arms, waiting for him in the hospital to wake up. A parent isn’t supposed to know what it’s like to say goodbye to their child, to even face the uncertainty of if they’ll ever seeing them again. FP wouldn’t wish that on his worst enemy, so he knows Fred sure as hell doesn’t deserve it. 

There’s nothing he can do now. No magic words to make Fred stop shaking in his arms, no band-aid that can fix the hole in Fred’s heart. He’s left there bleeding and open and shattered and FP can’t do a single goddamn thing. 

So they sit. And FP lets him cry and lets him bleed and lets him shatter, all the while keeping his arms wrapped around Fred tight. He bows his head, presses his lips to the back of Fred’s neck, lets him know that he’s there and that Fred isn’t alone, and that FP’ll look out for him for as long as he can. 

Fred tires out eventually. His breathing is still jagged, but at least the crying’s stopped. FP just thinks Fred’s dehydrated himself. He makes a mental note to hit the vending machine for bottles of water later. 

He doesn’t know how much time has passed. The clock on the bedside table is blinking 12:00, unmoving. He guesses it’s been somewhere around an hour, maybe more, maybe less. Time doesn’t really matter much to him right now. 

Fred’s worn himself out. FP can tell from how his body is hunching forward as much as it can while still locked in FP’s embrace. 

He maneuvers them up onto the bed, sits Fred on the edge while he kneels in front of him to take off his shoes. He’s careful, handles Fred like he’s made of paper and FP has to make sure not to tear him in two. 

He sets the shoes aside and stands up, makes to head towards the bathroom so he can wet a face cloth to clean up the sheen of sweat coating Fred’s skin, the tear tracks that have dried on his cheeks, but he’s stopped by an unexpected hand grabbing his wrist.

“Don’t leave me,” Fred pleads, voice hoarse. FP realizes for the first time tonight how scared Fred looks, like a child who’s just lost his parent in a store. He’s in front of him in an instant, cupping his cheeks and tilting his head up to meet FP’s eyes.

“Woah, hey, I’m just going to the bathroom.” FP leans down a presses a reassuring kiss to the crown of Fred’s head. Fred lets his head fall forward til it’s resting against FP’s stomach, his hands reaching up to loosely hold FP’s hips. “I’m not going anywhere,” FP whispers. “I’m right here.” He doesn’t leave until Fred nods and FP knows that he’s heard him. 

Fred’s laying on his side, facing the bathroom, when FP comes back. His eyes are open, but he’s not really looking at anything. FP can guess where his mind’s at. 

He gives Fred a little nudge and Fred scoots over, allowing room for FP to sit up against the headboard. Fred immediately curls against his side and FP takes the opportunity to dab the wet washcloth over Fred’s face. He carefully swipes at Fred’s brow, his cheeks, watches the way Fred seems to relax even the tiniest bit while someone takes care of him. 

FP knows it’s not much, but it’s the best he can do right now, and he’ll sit up all night with Fred laying just like this, Fred’s head resting on FP’s stomach and his fingers curled into the hem of FP’s shirt, if it means Fred’s relieved of even the slightest bit of tension.

The soft whispers of a song start filling the surrounding air. The voice is… pitchy, at best, and Fred finds the corner of his mouth curling up just the slightest.

_You are my sunshine_

_My only sunshine_

_You make me happy when skies are gray_

“You’re a terrible singer,” says Fred, voice muffled by FP’s shirt. His tone is teasing, but not mean.

FP smiles, holds Fred a little tighter to his side. “You want me to stop?”

“No.”

He knows they’ve got a long night ahead of them, and many more to come. They have no home to go back to, no way of knowing if Archie’s safe or when they’ll see him again. Everything’s up in the air and it’s complete fucking chaos. 

It’s not anything FP isn’t used to, but Fred… Fred’s used to structure. He’ll adapt, FP’s sure, but not without it taking an emotional toll on him, maybe even a physical one if tonight is anything to go off of. 

They’ll take it one day at a time, because what other choice do they have? And things will work out in the end, because they have to. Because FP can’t fathom a world where Fred Andrews doesn’t get a happy ending. And he’ll do his damndest to make sure Fred does.

_You’ll never know dear_

_How much I love you_

_Please don’t take my sunshine away._

**Author's Note:**

> title of fic from dark blue by jacks mannequin. kudos and comments much appreciated :)


End file.
